


Operation Dating Dads

by MelCalder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Grown Up Harry and Draco, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, M/M, Porn With Plot, Scheeming Children, Smut, Some Humor, Though Who Cares About the Epilogue?, clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 17:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelCalder/pseuds/MelCalder
Summary: Wherein Draco thinks that Potter wants to shag Scorpius, throws a fit and ends up being shagged himself.





	Operation Dating Dads

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've stumbled over a couple of Draco/Albus tics and thought, well that probably went over well with Harry and found the situation so funny that I had to write it down, except that I turned the situation around and had Draco believe that Harry wanted to shag Scorpius.
> 
> Enjoy. (Hopefully.)

And then one day he realises that he is nearing fifty. It’s official. He isn’t in his mid-forties anymore. He is definitely nearing fifty. Getting old.

It is time for a crisis.

Then again, how exactly does one go about having a crisis? He has never had one. He had, of course, had his share of nightmares after the war, but all in all he handled the whole aftermath of the war pretty fucking reasonably. By rushing into marriage with Ginny, lots and lots and LOTS of fucking and even more firewhiskey. He is a reasonable guy like that. He had also thrown himself into his work and as the years went by the nightmares had eventually ceased and with them his passion for Ginny.

He had handled his divorce in a similarly reasonable way. Even when it had been followed by his great bisexual awakening. By pulling different guys in different bars every night for four months straight, until he felt like there couldn’t be a gay or bisexual wizard or Muggle left in London that he hadn’t shagged. He had had to make up for lost time. And don’t forget the firewhiskey. Because it had been there. It may come as a surprise that his children hadn’t been his biggest fans during that time. But they came around eventually.

So, how is he going to do this crisis? Maybe he should call Hermione. She knows stuff. She probably knows all about crises. She had had one after all. Right after the war, went to a mind healer and everything.

In the end, he decides against it. After pondering it for another half hour, he decides to handle this in his reasonable trademark Harry Potter way. He is going to pull tonight. And tomorrow he might agree to Luna’s offer of setting him up. Because he is getting old, he probably should settle down. Drink less, exercise more, do couple stuff and all that rot. And maybe, just maybe, there might be a tiny little part of him that would like to come home to someone again.

For a moment he doubts his decision to not go into crisis when he steps into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. Forty-seven isn’t exactly old for a wizard, not comparable to how old forty-seven is for a Muggle. But still, he has crow’s feet and the skin around his eyes looks a little saggy. Maybe he should have listened to Fleur and started moisturizing but he really couldn’t be bothered. He is starting to grey around the temples, no honestly, who is he even trying to kid, he isn’t starting to grey, he has started a good while ago. He can only hope that whoever he sets his eyes on tonight is buying into the whole salt and pepper shit.

“Pull yourself together, you great baby,” he tells his reflection in the mirror and then turns on the shower. He has a quick wank, just to take the edge off. It’s never good to go out to pull when you’re desperate for it. Let’s be honest here, Harry would probably still be able to pull if he let himself go completely. Not because he is especially good looking but because of that fucking scar. In a way, the wank ensures that he isn’t tempted to lift the glamour that he uses to hide it.

One and half hours later finds him sporting a light buzz in his third favourite club. He stands by the bar, checking what’s on offer tonight, playing with a single Galleon that has made it into his pocket somehow even though the club is Muggle. A couple of guys have piqued his interest so far, but he hasn’t made a move yet and he probably won’t for a while. He might as well get some dancing in. Knocking his drink back, before slamming the thick glass onto the counter he makes his way into the middle of the writhing crowd. The bass throbs through him and fluorescent lights make him feel like he is on some kind of acid trip. When he starts to move with the crowd it is as if he becomes one with it, as if they aren’t individuals anymore but all part of one huge writhing beast. He loses himself in the sensation of anonymity, of bodies grinding against his, of hands groping, pulling, sometimes even caressing. He is hard in an instant, but he doesn’t pay his cock any attention, except for grinding it against the odd stranger as he keeps on dancing.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, when he makes his way back to the bar. Enough that he feels completely sober again. He is ready now, to really look. He has drunk, he has danced now he wants to fuck. A couple of guys have thrown appreciative glances his way but none of them has really ignited anything in Harry. He has another drink and then heads off to the loo. On his way there he sees a number of couples already three steps ahead of him, kissing, fumbling, grinding. In the restrooms there are even more couples, even more steps ahead. He hears the breathy moans and whispered expletives that make it hard to piss for they give his cock ideas of what it would rather be doing now. For a second, he is tempted to talk to it soothingly, _easy there, boy_ , but it is a cock not a horse and he really doesn’t want to be caught talking to his prick.

He washes his hands when he sees him in the mirror. Pissed out of his mind, slurring heavily, one hand against the wall, talking up a lanky boy with brown hair. “Fuck,” he whispers, when the way he brushes his white blond hair out of his eyes makes his cock twitch in anticipation. He has always had a thing for blondes, but that hair is unmistakably Malfoy hair. He presses a palm against his groin to relieve the pressure on his rapidly hardening cock. He has been itching to get his hands on Malfoy ever since he realised that his obsession in sixth year might have had less to do with his desire to find out what Malfoy had been scheming and more with just plain desire. He has dreamt about pushing his cock in between those milky white cheeks, having Malfoy’s pink little hole stretch around him, and Malfoy begging him to fuck him fast, deep, hard.

When he turns towards Malfoy he goes from hard as a fucking tree trunk to flaccid in 0.2 seconds. This is not Draco Malfoy he has been lusting after just now. It is Scorpius. Best friend to his own son Al and so young that even without the connection he would have been able to deduct that he is old enough to be his father. Harry would do a lot of things, kinky things, but fucking his son’s best friend or anybody that young is not one of them.

Well, his mood has officially been ruined and for a second, he contemplates leaving the restrooms and looking for someone to take home and fuck through the headboard, but then he hears it.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Scorpius slurs in a voice that is surely meant to be seductive but only displays his state of inebriation. The hair on Harry’s neck immediately stands on end. He has never wanted to hear these words come from Scorpius’s mouth. The smart, little, well-behaved boy that had spent so much time at their house visiting Al, back when he and Ginny had still been married. Also, he is far too drunk for this. A rush of protectiveness surges through him and before he even thinks it through he is beside Scorpius and pulls him away by the arm.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” he asks furiously, switching to full Auror mode without even noticing it. Scorpius recognizes him instantly, but instead of being embarrassed or feeling guilty, his face lights up when he looks at Harry as if he feels genuinely pleased to see him there.

“Mr Potter, how nice to meet you here.” Even in his state of advanced inebriation he is the picture of perfect manners. His father must be so fucking proud.

“I’m taking you home,” Harry growls, glaring at the boy.

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you, Mr Potter, but I was kind of in the middle of something there,” Scorpius answers.

“I’m taking you home,” Harry repeats, “Now!” Scorpius looks at him wide-eyed.

“Mr Potter, sir, I don’t mean to be rude,” he says and Harry wonders how exactly he still manages to string these kinds of sentences together when he is clearly beyond shit-faced. “Wouldn’t you want to find someone closer to your own age?”

“What?” Harry bellows.

“I mean you’re a very attractive man, Mr Potter, sir, it’s just don’t you think I’m a little young for you?! And also, what would Albus say if he knew?” Scorpius rambles. Harry freezes on the spot, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, like a fish out of water. The realisation of what Scorpius thinks this is hits him like a bucket of ice being dumped over his head.

“See, I’m right,” Scorpius says and starts to gently peel Harry’s hand off his arm. Dumbstruck as he is right now, Harry nearly lets him, but just as he is about to pull free, Harry renews his grip on him and hauls him close.

“I’m not going to fuck you, boy, I’m going to put you to bed, so that you can sleep it off,” he growls and then he drags Scorpius along out of the club. His night officially ruined.

“Kids,” he grumbles under his breath. “Stupid kids. Stupid kids getting drunk. Stupid kids getting drunk in my third favourite club. Stupid kids getting drunk in my third favourite club, trying to pull strangers.”

Pulling Scorpius behind himself through the club is hard, to say the least. And embarrassing. Never in his life has he had any desire to pull his son’s best friend past a guy sucking another guy’s cock. Neither has he ever had any desire to listen to Scorpius’s interested outburst of “Oh, that looks fun.” He begins questioning his choice of club. Maybe he really is too old for this. Well, he must be when Scorpius and therefore his kids are old enough to be found here.

When they finally make it outside, Harry takes a deep breath, clearing his head of the turmoil raging through it and the embarrassment that makes his skin crawl. He gives himself a second to let the cool night air wash over him, before he turns back to Scorpius demanding where to take him. Upon hearing the address Harry apparates them away immediately.

They appear in front of a posh apartment building in the centre of London. The Malfoys must be as loaded as they have ever been if that is where the youngest family member lives. James shares a tiny flat with three roommates while finishing his master’s degree. Al isn’t doing much better, often crashing at his parents’ when he is tired of his mouldy flat. Lily is in her last year of Hogwarts, so at least one of his kids isn’t worrying about making ends meet. He and Ginny both feel that the kids need to make it on their own. Especially, since they both didn’t have a lot during their respective childhoods. They help the boys, of course, whenever any of them is in real need of money. But they seem to be content with their lives just the way they are.

It takes Scorpius ages to get past the wards and when they finally stumble through the front door of one of the penthouses an incessant, shrill ringing noise tells him that Scorpius’s attempts have not been very successful.

“Turn that off,” Harry growls, “You’re going to wake up the whole neighbourhood.” Scorpius has the nerve to giggle.

“No, Mr Potter,” he says in between fits of laughter, stumbling against one of the chairs that are grouped around a large dining table just next to an impressive kitchen island.

“Sush,” Harry makes, sending Scorpius off into another fit of giggles. Urgh, drunk children, Harry thinks. Although, at 21 Scorpius certainly isn’t a child anymore, however much Harry feels like he is.

“No, Mr Potter,” he repeats. “This apartment is absolutely sound proof. It will only alert –” But Harry never hears the end of that sentences for Scorpius stumbles again, nearly crashing to the floor. Harry manages to catch him. Scorpius grabs at his arms, pulling himself up, giggling all the way.

“Oh, Mr Potter,” he murmurs suggestively, winks at him and then wriggles his eyebrows, and Harry might have just turned the slightest bit green, because just the thought of doing it with Scorpius makes him think of Al and he doesn’t – under no circumstances whatsoever – want to go there.

He breathes a sigh of relief, when finally, the alarm falls silent, but nearly chokes on it, when he sees a figure emerging from one of the rooms. A sleep rumpled Malfoy makes his way towards the entrance, cursing under his breath. He is dressed in nothing but a flimsy dressing gown, pulling the belt into a knot in the front as he approaches Harry and Scorpius, of whom he is still unaware. He stops dead when he spots Harry, who is still struggling to keep Scorpius upright.

“What is going on?” he asks, voice low and dangerous. And Harry wishes that he could erase the image of the small glimpse of naked torso he has just caught, for Malfoy does not look like he is up for any kind of tomfoolery.

“Oh Dad, you’re up,” Scorpius chortles. “Don’t worry. When he asked me ‘Who’s your daddy?’, I said it was you.” And he bursts out laughing again. What exactly is he playing at? Does he want Harry and Malfoy to get into a fight? And what exactly is wrong with his mind today? Because as he worries about getting into a fight with Malfoy, his mind supplies him with images of them wrestling on the floor, of Malfoy’s robe falling open and their erections brushing together by accident.

“I asked no such thing,” Harry exclaims in outrage, probably a second or two too late, because of his malfunctioning mind.

“Potter,” Malfoy growls, pulling his wand out of his dressing gown and pointing it at Harry. His eyes are blazing fire and Harry knows that he is itching to cast. He really shouldn’t be turned on now. He knows this, but apparently his body is mutinying as of now.

“I swear, Malfoy, I only brought him home,” Harry cries a little breathlessly, but Malfoy doesn’t listen.

“Get your fucking paws off my son, Potter, or I swear on Merlin’s grave I’m going to start throwing Unforgivables like they’re candy and you’re a kid on Halloween.” Harry does as he is told instantly which sends Scorpius unceremoniously crashing to the floor. It would have been funny if Malfoy wasn’t still staring at him like he might hex him any minute.

“OUCH,” sounds Scorpius’s voice from the floor. “That wasn’t very nice.” Harry can’t help it, a quiet snort escapes him, but he immediately covers his mouth with his hand in order to hide his grin from Malfoy.

“Zip it, Potter,” he growls, glaring at Harry. Then he addresses his son, “Go to your room, Scorpius. Get some sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” His tone doesn’t leave any room for discussion and consequently Scorpius doesn’t raise an argument but just gets off the floor quietly. Before he steps into his room, he mutters a quiet “Good night!” and they can basically hear him snoring about three seconds later.

They stare each other down for a couple of moments, before Malfoy abruptly spins on his heal and walks towards a cupboard in the extensive living room. He gets out a bottle of doubtlessly very expensive firewhiskey and sits down on the large beige sofa, taking a sip.

“Well, that’s rude. Not offering your guest a drink as well,” Harry says when he is sure that Malfoy won’t hex him.

“You’re not a guest, Potter. You’re a forty-seven-year-old pervert who I’ve just prevented from fucking my son,” Malfoy snaps in return.

“I wasn’t going to do that. I told you I wasn’t,” he says holding up his hands. Malfoy doesn’t look at him, so instead of standing around in his foyer, he walks over to the cupboard that Malfoy has left open and pours himself a drink as well. He could have left, of course, gone home or back to the club and do what he has left the house for tonight in the first place, but that is neither here nor there. Not sure what to do with himself, he takes a seat at the opposite end of the sofa and sips from his drink. The whiskey is good, but he hasn’t expected anything else from Malfoy.

“Look, Malfoy, I’m not gonna lie. I was at the club to pull, but –“ Yet Malfoy, obviously, isn’t interested in what he has to say for he cuts him right off.

“And you thought that my son would be a fitting conquest to _what_? Prove to yourself that you still got it?” Harry shakes his head, because even though proving to himself that he hasn’t turned old and unattractive has been his goal tonight, fucking Scorpius Malfoy never would have been the thing to do the trick. (Fucking Draco Malfoy, though…)

“No, as soon as I realized that it was him –,” Harry tries to explain, but again Malfoy isn’t letting him finish his sentence.

“You thought you could fuck my innocent –“ This time it’s Harry’s turn to interrupt, “He’s hardly inno–“ But Malfoy isn’t having it. “INNOCENT son,” he bellows, right over what Harry is trying to say. And, dude, he is getting on Harry’s nerves now. It’s like Harry could say anything and he still wouldn’t believe a word he said. For a second, he is tempted to play into that and say something ridiculous just to see what happens, but instead he keeps on arguing.

“No, that isn’t how it happened,” he growls. He hasn’t done anything that he shouldn’t have. Why does he have to keep defending himself? “The moment I recognized him, I took him home!”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Potter! You wanted to fuck him,” Malfoy snaps.

“No, I didn’t!” But he did, didn’t he? He saw Scorpius in the mirror and as soon as he saw that white blond hair his mind had gone straight to the gutter, conjuring up all the filthy things he would like to do to him. Except he didn’t want to do them to Scorpius, he wanted to do them to Malfoy. And, of course, that is the moment that his mind decides to not so gently remind him of Malfoy’s current state of undress, which his cock definitely takes an interest in, if the sudden tightness of his trousers is anything to go by.

“Why, Potter? Haven’t I done enough to redeem myself? Why do you still have to humiliate me at every turn? Why can’t you just leave me the hell alone? And why do you have to drag my son into this?” Malfoy rants, exasperation clear in his voice.

“I – no! That wasn’t what I was trying to do,” Harry insists. Also, who does Malfoy think he is? As if Harry’s whole world revolves around him. “I saw him chatting up some bloke, offering himself up and as soon as I realized who he was I hauled him out of there!” How many times does he have to repeat himself before Malfoy is going to believe him?

“But before that you wanted to fuck him, didn’t you, Potter? You thought about it, didn’t you? Having him. So young and inexperienced. I bet you got so hard thinking about it,” he taunts and Harry blushes furiously. Because on the one hand, Malfoy is kind of right, he has wanted to fuck him, he has started to fantasize about him the moment he laid eyes on him, except he started fantasizing about his father not him. And why do he and his father need to look so much alike? It’s fucking confusing.

On the other hand, what exactly is Malfoy doing here talking like that, does he _want_ to get Harry hard or is that just a pleasant by-product to mock him with later? Because all that talk of having someone, young and inexperienced, paired with Malfoy’s sultry voice brings him right back to his sixth-year crush. And from there it is all creamy white skin, bruising under his grip, his teeth leaving marks, his lips sucking the blood underneath to the surface. Fuck, he wants Malfoy. He wants to mark him, he wants to wreck him. 

“No,” he says, “No, Malfoy. Stop it. I never wanted to touch him.” But he knows that he is convincing exactly no one, because his breath comes in strained huffs and his trousers are growing tighter by the second. Because all of Malfoy’s talk has left him with one thought on his mind, to fuck Malfoy.

“Who are you trying to kid here? I can see that you’re hard, I can see how turned on you are just by the thought of having him. Stop denying it and just admit that the Saviour is nothing but a creep, a pervert lusting after boys not even half his age. You are–“ But Harry doesn’t get to hear what Draco thinks of him, because before he even knows what he is doing he blurts out, “I thought he was you!” They fall into shocked silence.

“I – you – _what_?” Malfoy stammers. Looking at Harry completely gobsmacked with wide, unbelieving eyes. But Harry doesn’t miss the fact that his breath catches and his eyes glaze over for a second. Far be it from him to be cocky, but for all intents and purposes it looks like Malfoy wants this too, because just the mention of Harry wanting him is already affecting him visibly. The thought that Harry might not be completely delusional, that he might actually have a shot at living out his fantasies keeps him going.

“I thought he was you. I wanted,” he pauses, because finishing his sentences like that would be a lie, “I want you.”

“No,” he nearly whimpers, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. “No, you don’t.” Now that Harry has started talking, he cannot stop for he can see the impact his words have on Malfoy. His mouth has gone slack, his pupils dilated, making his normally light eyes seem almost black and a flush is rising from his chest, up his neck, making him look delicious.

“I do, Merlin knows, I do. I have wanted you before I even knew what I wanted. I have thought about what it would be like to have you, to taste you, to fuck you.” He pauses, taking in Malfoy’s dazed look, the way he shifts slightly on the sofa in an attempt to hide that his cock is beginning to tent his robe, gripping his knees at the same time so violently that his knuckles are turning white. Looking at Malfoy makes him bold.

“I have fantasized about licking every inch of that pale skin of yours, finding all the hidden places that you would only touch in the dead of night, when you’re pleasuring yourself. I want to run my tongue there, circle it around the place that my cock yearns for. I want to dip it inside, taste you, fuck you open with my tongue.”

“Fuck,” Malfoy moans and bites his bottom lip deliciously.

“Yes,” Harry answers. “I want to push myself inside you. And don’t get me wrong, it is still going to hurt. I’m big, Draco.” He winks at the other man, who sucks in an audible breath. “You are going to feel every inch of me, every vein. You’re going to feel my pulse, every beat. And I’m not going to give you time to adjust either. I’m going to fuck you deep and slow and hard and you are going to beg for more, because that’s how much you’re going to like it.”

A low almost inaudible moan leaves Malfoys lips and for a moment they stare at each other, both breathing heavily, both of them turned on, but uncertain how to proceed. Finally, Harry summons his inner Gryffindor and walks the few steps that separate him from Malfoy. When he comes to stand before him, Malfoy’s hand twitches as if he wants to reach out, but he pulls it back and settles it back onto his knee.

“Draco,” he breathes, Malfoy’s eyes fluttering closed at the sound of his name on Harry’s lips, letting it wash over him like a verbal caress. “Get up,” he commands and Malfoy complies almost instantly. “Show me your bedroom.” Malfoy just turns and walks toward a door on the right side of a small hallway. Harry can barely believe that this is happening. How is Malfoy just going along with this? Malfoy opens the door and enters the room, leaving it open for Harry to follow. Harry does, closes the door and throws up a quick silencing spell just to be on the save side.

“Take off your robe, Draco,” he says and the sight of Draco’s bare chest makes his breath hitch in his throat. His hand comes down on the bulge in his trousers and he gives himself a little squeeze, groaning while never taking his eyes off Malfoy. “Pants as well.” And while Malfoy drops his pants, Harry starts with the buttons of his shirt.

When Malfoy is naked he sits on the edge of the bed so that he is facing Harry. He spreads his legs, presenting Harry with his swollen cock. “Strip,” he says and takes his erection into his hand, stroking himself leisurely. “Slowly.” Harry complies, just as turned on by following Malfoy’s orders as he has been by Malfoy obeying his command. He opens the buttons of his shirt one by one, then loosens the cuffs, before letting it drop to the floor.

He feels breathless, he is so aroused that he barely manages to get enough oxygen into his lungs. When he looks at Malfoy, it seems as though he is struggling with the same problem. He is flushed and panting, already far more gone than should be expected when all they have done so far is exchange a few orders. He begins to fear that maybe this might be over far more quickly than he has fantasized about. Surely it wouldn’t go down well, if he came within five minutes. It would most certainly reduce his chances of a rerun.

He opens the fly and zipper on his trousers and lets them drop, before toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his trousers. He quickly makes to take off his socks too, because he still remembers that Ginny has always thought it to be the bedroom equivalent of an Unforgivable to leave them on, even though he never did get the fuss. Still, he doesn’t want to fuck this up.

He steps closer to the bed, but Malfoy’s voice stops him. “Pants as well,” he mimics Harry and he obeys, smirking at Malfoy. He continues his way over to the bed then and comes to a stop between Malfoy’s legs, careful not to touch him. He lets his hand travel south, towards his cock and gives is a couple of rough strokes. All the while, his eyes never leave Malfoy’s.

“What do you want to do?” Malfoy asks, when Harry doesn’t make a move, but just stands there looking at him. His mind runs wild with the question. There are just too many things he would like to do. He wants to kiss him, touch him, suck him, rim him, fuck him. The possibilities are endless and each and every one of them sounds more delicious than the next.

When Harry takes his time to answer, Malfoy bites his lower lip again, maybe worrying if Harry might have changed his mind. But Harry is equally uncertain. Will Malfoy let him do whatever he wants? Or will he laugh at him and throw him out if he suggests something as soppy as kissing. But the more Malfoy worries the soft flesh with his teeth the more pronounced becomes his desire to take a turn himself.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispers. And, of course, Malfoy cannot let the chance to mock him go by entirely unused. He raises one eyebrow tauntingly and Harry briefly considers making his leave now as he blushes violently, but then Malfoy speaks. “Well, come on then.”

He bends down awkwardly and captures Malfoy’s lips in a soft kiss. The hitch in Malfoy’s breath betrays his earlier taunt immediately and Harry is glad that he hasn’t fled, because, damn, he could do this for hours. Even when his back begins to hurt from the uncomfortable angle it is bent at and when his lungs are screaming for oxygen he is reluctant to break the contact of their lips. Malfoy is the one to pull back first, gasping for air, but instead of further mocking Harry, he scoots back a couple of inches on the bed, spreading his legs wider, inviting Harry to come closer.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks, voice rough. Malfoy just nods, apparently not trusting his voice at the moment. Harry reaches out one hand and brushes it against Malfoy’s thigh. Before he has a chance to bite his lip again, a broken moan escapes him and Harry briefly muses that it might just have been the sweetest sound he has ever heard. A sound so open and deliciously filthy that he wants to hear it again, preferably uninterrupted this time. Suddenly, he can imagine himself devoting his life to eliciting this noise from Draco Malfoy again and again for surely, he would never grow tired of it.

His desire to hear Malfoy fall apart, spurs him into action. He climbs onto the bed and kisses Malfoy again. Caressing his abused lower lip with his tongue and then, upon making him gasp at the contact, slipping his tongue inside Malfoy’s mouth, sliding their tongues against each other. Putting all his weight on one hand, he takes the other hand from the bed and gently takes Malfoy’s head in it, running his thumb along his jaw tenderly.

Malfoy might have mocked him earlier for suggesting something as soppy as kissing, when he could have asked for anything and probably would have had his wish granted, but now he is positively melting into the kiss whimpering into Harry’s mouth, leaning into his hand. Harry breaks the kiss then, determined to find out what other intoxicating noises he might discover when he ups his game.

He crawls off the bed and gets on his knees in front of it. Pulling Malfoy closer by the backs of his knees and sets to kissing every inch of his legs that he can reach, running his hands up and down Malfoy’s sides. He has him trembling in his arms within minutes, emitting little whimpers every now and then, until he can’t take it anymore and he begs for it, just as Harry has predicted half an hour ago tops.

“Please,” he whispers, but it is so quiet that Harry can believably pretend he hasn’t heard it and just keep on torturing Malfoy.

“Merlin, Potter, _please_ ,” he growls, but Harry enjoys himself far too much to give in easily.

“Please what, Draco?” he whispers, letting his breath ghost over the tip of Malfoy’s leaking cock, which twitches at the teasing sensation.

“Do something, anything, please,” he begs, throwing one arm over his eyes in an embarrassed gesture.

“What do you want me to do?” He licks the head of Malfoy’s cock teasingly, tasting him, giving a moan as if he has never tasted anything more delicious.

“Something. Anything!” he repeats, but Harry isn’t giving in.

“You will have to be more specific. What is it you want me to do, Draco?” he nearly purrs. He loves calling him Draco, because it’s affecting Malfoy as much as a physical caress would have, maybe even more so.

“Do what you said earlier,” is all he manages and even though half of his face is hidden beneath his arm, he can still see him blush furiously.

“Fuck you open with my tongue?” Harry enquires as if asking for the time and if possible, Malfoy blushes an even darker shade of red, before he whispers, “Yes, that.”

The degree to which Malfoy is equally turned on and embarrassed by what he is asking of Harry, combined with his inability to say it out loud, makes Harry wonder. He pulls him even closer, so that his bum rests at the very edge of the bed and guides his feet up, so that they are resting on his shoulders. He whispers a wandless cleaning spell, that nearly makes Malfoy jump out of his skin. Then he spreads Malfoy’s cheeks gently and looks at his pink hole tensing up, just as the rest of his body, as Harry softly blows on it. Well, certainly that can’t be true, can it? It would be far too good to be true, but he asks anyway.

“Have you ever done this before with another man?” He is met with silence, Malfoy is holding his breath and waiting.

“Draco?” he prompts, and hears the breath leave him in a rush.

“I have had sex with men before,” he says, purposely avoiding the question.

“Yes, well, but that is not what I’m asking you, is it? I’m asking if you ever had a man kissing your arse before. Has anyone ever circled your hole with their tongue? Has anyone ever pushed inside and really tasted you?” Malfoy is still tense in his arms.

“Come on, you can tell me,” Harry murmurs only millimetres from Draco’s opening, that gives a little twitch as his breath blows over it.

“N-no,” Draco stammers and Harry has to take a second to compose himself, for he doesn’t want the smile that has spread across his face to be audible when he speaks, lest it might scare Draco off.

“Does it turn you on that it is going to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World that is going to kiss your arse first?” he growls.

“Merlin, yes, Potter, please,” he whines and without further ado he licks one broad swipe along the crack. Draco’s whole body twitches at the sudden sensation. But instead of giving Draco time to get used to the sensation, Harry grabs his cheeks greedily, pulling him closer still, and starts licking and sucking Draco with abandon. Just as he has hoped Draco makes the most delicious noises and when he pushes his tongue past the ring of muscles he hears the electrifying broken moan again that surely could make him come by itself.

He alternates between running his tongue over Draco’s hole, circling it and pushing inside. Draco is writhing against the bed and soon he is wet with Harry’s saliva and his entrance his loose enough that Harry can push his tongue all the way inside without any resistance. He slips two fingers inside Draco then, curling them up slightly and brushing against Draco’s prostate with sure movements, while he keeps running his tongue along the place where his fingers disappear into Draco.

From the way Draco trembles around him, he can tell that he is close and when he tries to pull away, mumbling for Harry to stop, he knows he is about to come. Harry doesn’t budge, because at the moment it is hard to think of anything hotter than Draco coming with Harry’s face buried between his cheeks, his channel contracting around his fingers or better even around his tongue.

“Stop – I’m… I’m going to,” he slurs, barely coherent.

“Do it!” Harry murmurs against him, in encouragement.

“No, please. I want you inside me…,” he breaks off, moaning and mumbling a few choice words to himself. “I want to come on your cock,” he finally manages.

“Don’t worry, you will,” he says and returns his attention to Draco’s arse. Giving up the fight against his own orgasm, it doesn’t take long until Draco is trembling again, his hips slowly gyrating as if searching for friction in the air. Harry can feel him tighten around his fingers and pulls them out with one last long drag over Draco’s prostate before replacing them with his tongue.

Draco nearly sobs with relief when he finally starts spurting thick white ropes of come across his own chest, tightening around Harry’s tongue to a degree that makes him wonder if it would have hurt having his cock instead of his tongue buried inside of Draco, but he aches to try it nevertheless.

He pulls back, wiping his face with the back of his hand and accios his wand from his trousers. He casts a quick cleaning charm on himself, leaving his mouth minty fresh, and pushes Malfoy up on the bed, pleased that he hasn’t recovered from his orgasm yet, still starring at the ceiling a little cross eyed.

He wastes no time before he climbs on top of Draco, kissing him again briefly, and lines himself up to enter him in one swift stroke until he bottoms out inside Draco. The wet, tight heat that is Draco’s body is almost too much and for a moment Harry’s world is reduced to this, the sensation of being buried balls deep in Draco Malfoy. At the same time, the sensation of being stretched even wider, shakes Draco from his dazed state. He hisses, his face rearranging itself in a frown. Harry stills immediately.

“Sorry,” he pants, “Too much?”

“No,” Draco shakes his head and reaches up to cup Harry’s face in his hand. “It’s just been a while.” Harry leans down and kisses him. He has promised Draco that he would come on his cock, so he will have to take this a little slower anyway, for as much as he would like to plough into Draco and lose himself in the search of his own pleasure right now, he also wants to feel him tighten around him.

He pulls away, kissing a trail from the corner of Draco’s mouth, down to his neck and back again to his mouth. He can tell that Draco is feeling slightly awkward, now that Harry is inside him, not moving but instead kissing and caressing him as if this was something different than a one-time only thing. And Harry, too, wonders about it. The way Draco has melted into him, leaning into his touches, moaned into his mouth, is certainly different than the quick and efficient fucking Harry normally indulges in. Also, he doesn’t make a habit out of rimming people until they come all over themselves. Kissing someone there feels rather too intimate for a one-night stand. But there is something about Malfoy, about their shared history that has him wanting to make this memorable. For Draco, but for himself as well, because he has spent too much time thinking about this.

He shifts slightly, making himself comfortable between Draco’s thighs, lowering himself onto his elbows and kisses him again, more deeply this time, because he _is_ still hard as a fucking rock and rather desperate to get off by now. Draco’s erection, which has never really flagged even after what must have been a pretty intense orgasm, is trapped between them and it is only when he wraps his legs around Harry’s waist and starts rocking against him that Harry begins to move. Pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in, seeing stars from the onslaught of pleasure rushing from his cock up his spine and through his veins so that he can still feel it in his toes.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs into Draco’s ear, biting the lobe gently, before placing kisses just beneath that have him arching his back. Draco shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “Don’t say that when you don’t mean it.” Harry pulls back and looks at him, all the while thrusting slowly and deeply into the impossibly tight heat. Draco is flushed and trying to avoid his gaze, looking away in embarrassment. Harry reaches out his right hand, turning his head so that he can no longer avoid his eyes. His blush deepens and it only makes him look even more beautiful. His chest constricts with the realisation that this is something he can picture himself doing for a long, long time. And not only this.

“But I do mean it. I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I have thought about how you might look underneath me. But nothing could have prepared me for the real thing.” He kisses him again, entwining their tongues, moaning his pleasure into Draco’s mouth.

He keeps fucking into Draco slowly, but after a while he needs more, the need to come increases and he needs more friction, more of Draco. He shifts and throws Draco’s legs one after the other over his shoulders.

“Trust me,” he says when Draco raises a questioning eyebrow at him and then pulls out again so that only the tip of his cock remains inside and thrusts in with more vigour. When he hears Draco’s broken moan again, he knows that he is at the right angle, nailing his prostate at every upward stroke.

“More,” Draco commands and Harry speeds up his thrusts, pushing himself inside as deeply as possible, until he has Draco chanting _yes, yes, yes_ and every cell in his body begins to tighten with the force of his impending release. Taking one hand off the bed, he wraps his hand around Draco’s cock and starts stroking him in time with his thrusts.

“More – harder,” Draco stammers and Harry’s movements begin to become erratic, losing all finesse in his desperation to bury himself inside Draco, to come inside him, to fill him with his seed. He can feel his balls drawing up when Draco tightens around him even more, the grip of his body on his cock like a vice, but oh so good. He is about to come, nearing the edge with lightning speed, but still dead set on making Draco go over first. So, he tightens his grip on the other man’s cock and increases the rhythm of his strokes, biting his lip in an attempt to hold out just a few seconds longer and then finally Draco arches beneath him.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco gasps and sounds almost surprised, eyes wide for a second before they flutter closed and he comes a second time, slicking their stomachs with his come. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off him, determined to commit his face distorted in the throes of bliss to his memory.

“Harry,” he slurs as his cock gives a final twitch, gushing out more come between them, and it is all it takes to send Harry over the edge as well. He releases his lip, as his cock pulses violently inside Draco for what feels like minutes.

“Oh God, Draco,” he sobs as waves of pleasure surge through his body, making his arms shake from the strain of holding his body up, as blackness threatens to take over from the edges. Finally, his arms give way and he ungracefully collapses on top of Draco, smearing his come between them, panting like he has just finished a marathon, overwhelmed by the fact that he has very nearly passed out from fucking Draco Malfoy.

They stay like this for a couple of minutes, both of them too spent to move a single muscle, but eventually Draco stirs.

“Sorry, am I crushing you?” Harry mumbles, making to get off Draco.

“No, stay. I just need my arm–“ and he wriggles a little more until he has freed his left arm, that has been awkwardly trapped beneath Harry, and begins to stroke the hair out of Harry’s face.

“You have such atrocious hair, Potter,” he says fondly and Harry merely hums in return. His eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch. It has been a while since someone has caressed him like that while coming down from a shag as spectacular as this one.

“I’ve always wondered, if it was soft,” he mutters while running the strands through his fingers. “So soft.”

Eventually, Harry gets up, leans in for another kiss and then slowly and carefully pulls his now soft cock from Draco’s body. They both hiss at the feel of their over sensitised skin brushing together. He flops down next to Draco waves his hand in a wandless cleaning charm, which earns him a muttered “Show-off!” and a playful elbow to the ribs. They both chuckle quietly as Harry pulls him in for another kiss and they lie together, legs entwined.

Now that he has finally come down from his orgasm induced high and his mind is working properly once more, he cannot believe what has just happened. This is not at all the way he has planned his night to go. Well, he has, of course, wanted to get laid, but this has definitely exceeded his expectations. He hasn’t had sex like this in a very long time. Now that he is thinking about it, he cannot really think of a time when he has ever had sex like this. His mind is positively blown by the fact that he might just have had the best sex of his life with his childhood nemesis.

He lets the events of the night pass before his inner eye again and suddenly a thought crosses his mind. Draco has never had anyone open him up with his tongue, which is probably no surprise thinking of how proper the Malfoy’s are and that they would probably think it to be a depraved act. He had been so embarrassed by asking for it, yet so turned on at the same time. So turned on in fact, that Harry had made him come without ever touching his cock, just from the touch of his fingers and tongue inside him. His cock gives an interested twitch just at the thought of doing it again. But Draco has seemed insecure and slightly embarrassed later on as well, pretty clueless as to why Harry would throw his legs over his shoulders and somewhat surprised that his body was able to climax a second time. Before he can think better of it, he asks, “You have done this before, have you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Potter, but I said I had,” Draco bristles.

“No, don’t do that,” Harry says, pulling him closer and placing a soft kiss to his temple. “Don’t get all defensive and closed off when my come is still dripping out of you.” Draco groans and turns in his arms, hiding his face against Harry’s chest. He breathes deeply before he answers.

“I have done this. Once,” he admits quietly and Harry can feel the heat of his blush radiating off him.

“Oh,” is all Harry can think of to say.

“It was what got me a divorce, a sizable dent in my vaults and parents that are oftentimes too embarrassed to look at me for I have disgraced the family name,” he goes on, voice bleak.

“Do you regret doing this, then?” Harry cannot help but ask, because he definitely doesn’t regret a second of his time with Draco tonight.

“No.” Draco’s answer comes promptly and Harry might have breathed a sigh of relieve if he didn’t have the distinct feeling that there was more to come. “I needed to know,” Draco continues, “I needed to know, if I have thrown everything away on a fluke or if there is something there. If I am really into that.”

“And? Are you?” Harry inquires.

“Gay?” Harry nods. “Yes. Totally, one hundred percent, hopelessly and irrevocably bent,” Draco answers and chuckles to himself.

“Well, glad to be of service then,” Harry says a little bitterly, because he cannot help but feel used. As if Draco has only slept with him to get some insight into himself, not because it was Harry and he desired him or was at least attracted to him. They are quiet for a while, uncertain of how to proceed from here. That is until another question comes to Harry’s mind.

“Why didn’t you know the last time?” Draco pulls away and looks at him. Probably searching his face for a sign that he can trust Harry with this information.

“It wasn’t like what we just did,” he says blushing deeply. “The gardener at the manor had hired a new help and he had struck my fancy and obviously noticed it himself. He came onto me one evening and I thought he wanted me, but in the end, he only wanted to get a leg over an ex-Death Eater.” Harry pulls him close, tucking his head beneath his chin.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he whispers against the top of his head.

“We kissed and I thought, this is it, this is what has been missing,” he continues bitterly. “And when he asked me if he could fuck me, I said yes, and it went downhill from there. He perfunctorily prepared me and let’s just stick with I didn’t enjoy myself very much even before my ex-wife walked in on us.”

A surge of anger and – let’s just face it – jealousy washes through him upon hearing the story. He has half a mind to demand the bastard’s name and make up some charges to arrest him. They are quiet for so long that Harry doesn’t expect Draco to continue. But then he speaks, just as bitterly as before.

“I was humiliated. But it wasn’t enough for Astoria. She told my parents and threatened to tell the Prophet and, of course, those vultures would have been foaming at the mouth for a chance to print something like ‘Malfoy Heir Likes It Up The Ass’ or something. Well, I had to pay her off heftily. And my parents can’t even look at me, because isn’t is bad enough to have a bent son, does he have to be the bottom as well? Well, newsflash everyone, no one spreads their legs for an ex-Death Eater and who exactly do I have to thank for this one?”

They fall silent again because what exactly does a person say after a story like that? He could, of course, say he is sorry again, but Draco probably doesn’t want to hear that. So, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“I could kill him for you.” Draco snorts.

“What is wrong with you, Potter?” he asks, but there is no heat in his voice only genuine amusement.

“No, I mean, I’m Head Auror. I can make it look like an accident. And if anyone ever finds out, I’m still Harry Potter. I can play the hero card, go all ‘Woopsi, sorry, not sorry’ and everyone will probably get over it pretty quickly.” This time Draco laughs for real and Harry wonders why he has always stuck to fighting him when he could have made him laugh. He finds it immensely gratifying to worm all these intoxicating sounds from Draco.

“Thank you. If I ever need anyone offed, I’ll know where to turn,” Draco says lightly.

Harry yawns deeply and makes to get underneath the blanket, throwing it over Draco as well, before pulling him against his chest again. His eyes begin to droop and with them, apparently, the filter that is supposed to keep him from bursting out with every single thought that runs through his mind, for suddenly he says, “I could be persuaded to spread my legs for an ex-Death Eater.”

“I don’t really think my father would be all that interested,” Draco replies, snickering.

“Ewww, I meant you, you fucking prat,” Harry cries, shoving Draco almost off the bed. Draco throws his head back and laughs openly, from the belly and the sound is so addictive that Harry reaches out again and pulls him back underneath the covers. Without having breached the topic of Harry staying over, they curl up together and close their eyes.

Harry has almost drifted off, when he hears Draco speak again. “I don’t want you to pity-bottom for me,” he says quietly.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Harry answers and turns so that he can rub his more than half hard cock against him. “It isn’t pity-bottoming when I get hard just thinking about it.”

“You can say it now,” Draco says and again a smile is audible in his voice.

“Say what?” Harry asks.

“That I have ruined you for other men.” He inhales sharply at the unexpected words and nearly chokes on his own saliva when he starts laughing at the same time. They joke around for some time, trading half-hearted insults and sloppy kisses before they fall asleep.

* * *

“Coffee, Potter?” Draco says, busing himself in the open kitchen while Harry takes a seat at the dining table that is situated on the other side of the kitchen island. They have woken up wrapped around each other, but the temperature between them has dropped several degrees since last night which leaves Harry slightly uneasy.

“Yes, thank you.” They are quiet for a few minutes, before Draco joins him at the table, placing a large mug of steaming coffee in front of Harry, purposely avoiding his eyes as he does so.

“You know, now that you have ruined me for other men, you might want to consider calling me Harry,” he says. Draco blushes an attractive shade of pink, but still refuses to meet his gaze.

“You remember I said that, do you?” He blushes even deeper.

“I do,” Harry answers, picking up the mug and hiding his smile behind it while his heart performs painful summersaults in his chest. They lapse into an awkward silence. Draco is clearly embarrassed by his suggestion that they would do this again, though Harry isn’t really clear on why that is. Because he would very much like to do it again. Lots of times. He would go so far as to say that he would be very happy to do Draco exclusively for the foreseeable future. He might even be open to dinner dates and other such things. But Draco’s embarrassment makes him doubt the likelihood of any of this happening. Maybe he has changed his mind. Maybe he has only said the things he said in the heat of the moment. Maybe… But his thoughts are interrupted when Scorpius walks into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he says cheerfully, giving both of them a cheeky smile. The nerve of him, Harry thinks in half-hearted outrage. He has got him laid, so how much indignation is really appropriate?

“Good morning, young man,” Draco answers icily, apparently still angry at his behaviour last night. But Scorpius doesn’t seem to pick up on his mood. Instead he bangs about the kitchen, getting himself a cup of coffee, whistling to himself. When he walks out, towards them, Draco glares at him, but Scorpius ignores him, walks towards him and throws an arm around him.

“Happy belated birthday, Dad,” he says and kisses Draco on the cheek. “I hope you like your present.” He looks up at Harry and winks. Draco splutters. Harry nearly chokes on his coffee.

“My… my… WHAT?” Draco wheezes. Scorpius is already making his way towards his room again, when he turns around and looks at the two baffled men sitting around the dining table.

“Your present,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and then, when Draco and Harry still show no signs of catching up, he jerks his head in Harry’s direction. They exchange a bewildered look.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” Draco says sternly, even though he doesn’t quite succeed at looking the part because he is flushed and clearly embarrassed. “Explain yourself.”

“Well,” he begins, “Al and I thought that you two could hit it off, so Al talked Mr Potter into a midlife crisis and I made him take me home before he could prove to himself that he still has it in him to pull someone at a club. You know the rest.” He shrugs again, a smug grin on his face.

Harry and Draco exchange another look. He remembers his talk with Al. Hermione had floo called him about something and inevitably their conversation had turned towards the topic all their conversations have been turning to for the last year or so. Harry should settle down. Ginny is in a serious relationship again, they are bound to get married soon and Harry’s bachelor lifestyle isn’t becoming of a person his age and doesn’t he know that she only wants to see him happy? He had ended the call as quickly as possible, grumbling to himself while making his way towards the kitchen.

“She’s wrong, you know,” Al, who was visiting for a few days, said. Harry just threw him a questioning glance.

“You still have a few good years left. I mean, in the dark, in a club or something, your grey hair is barely noticeable and you have way less wrinkles than some of my friends’ parents.” He had conveniently not mentioned that most of his friends’ parents were about ten years his senior. At that time, his words had thrown Harry straight into crisis mode or none-crisis mode, because Harry doesn’t really do crises, being a reasonable guy and all that.

“You little shits,” Harry says without heat, unable to keep the smile off his face as he snaps out of his recollection. Scorpius is right they have hit it off. He hasn’t been this relaxed in a long time, because he hasn’t had sex like that in a really, really long time.

“No disrespect, Mr Potter, but I think the words you were looking for are ‘Thank you, Scorp.’” Draco takes an audible breath, appalled by Scorpius’s sass.

“Scorpius,” he snaps angrily. But Scorpius just shrugs him off.

“Thank me later then.” And he turns around and walks off towards his room.

“Never have I ever been this embarrassed by my own offspring,” Draco mutters as he turns towards Harry.

“He’s not wrong though, is he?” Harry asks, heat flooding his face instantly. They have breached the topic of repeating last night just a few moments ago, or rather they have briefly touched upon something that could have turned into the topic of them repeating last night, and Draco hasn’t sounded too eager then. So, maybe he is lining himself up to be shot down.

“Not entirely, no,” Draco concedes, his ears turning pink again when he finally meets Harry’s eyes. Harry releases a relieved breath and smiles at Draco toothily.

“So, dinner then?” he asks, stomach fluttering as he takes in the small smile on Draco’s face and the almost imperceptible nod of his head. He gets up from the table then. It is late already and he should probably get home and let his friends and family know that he is still alive. He walks over the few steps towards Draco.

“You’re buying,” he says and threads his fingers through the silky strands of white blond hair, before he leans in and kisses Draco, making it as filthy as he dares. When he pulls back, Draco is breathing heavily and his eyes are almost black with desire. “And who knows, I might even spread my legs for you afterwards,” he murmurs against Draco’s lips, capturing his answering groan in another kiss, before he makes his way to the door.

“Pick me up at seven, the address is 12, Grimmauld Place.” He leaves Draco’s flat, deciding to walk, enjoying the crisp late-morning air on his way home.

* * *

“Aunty Hermione?” Al called through the floo.

“Yes? Here,” came the answer from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“Can Scorp and I come through?”

“Sure, why not. Anything the matter?” she inquired. But Al had already pulled his head from the fire to get over to his aunt and uncle’s house. Scorpius was right behind him, arriving about three seconds after him.

Al looked around the slightly cluttered living-room, typically for his aunt every available surface was covered in books, but his aunt was nowhere in sight.

“In the kitchen,” she called and as soon as Scorpius had dusted of the soot from his impeccable shirt, he pulled him behind himself into the kitchen. Hermione was already busy making tea for them, three mugs lined up on the counter next to the kettle.

“So? To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

“Can’t I just visit my favourite aunty, when I feel like it?” Al answered innocently and is only met with an incredulously lifted eyebrow.

“Oh fine,” he relented after a moment. “Scorp and I have a plan and need your help.” The kettle whistled and Hermione poured them each a cup before placing their respective mugs on the table in front of them.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” she said, sitting down, looking at the two young men with interest.

“We want to set up our dads,” Scorp began.

“Hmm,” Hermione made. “Harry and Draco? That sounds just crazy enough to work.”

“Right? That’s what we thought.”

“Okay, so how do you want to play this? The chances of them ending up at each other’s throats are high,” she chipped in.

“Okay, Operation Dating Dads is going to commence as follows: Step one, make Dad, Harry I mean, doubt that he still got what it takes. As soon as anyone so much as suggests that he might be too old to find somebody, he is going to go running for the clubs to pull, because we all know, that even though he would never admit it, he is secretly scared of ending up alone, while at the same time he is too emotionally stunted to actually start dating anyone” Al explained, holding up one finger to indicate what step of the plan they were at.

“Step two,” Scorpius continued and Al raised a second finger. “Place bait at club.” He pointed to himself. “And make Mr Potter rescue me from my drunk self, before I lose what is left of my innocence. Make an enormous ruckus to wake up Dad, Draco I mean, and then make him believe that Mr Potter is a pervert lusting after his precious son.”

“Step three,” Al took over. “Let them hash it out on their own, hopefully with industrial strength silencing charms.” Hermione chuckled at their ludicrous idea.

“I don’t know, guys. Don’t you think, that they should become friends first? I mean, if Draco honestly believes that Harry is after Scorpius they might get into a nasty row,” she said doubtfully.

“For them to become friends first would take ages,” Scorpius interjected.

“Believe us, Aunty Hermione, we thought this all through. We have been dropping hints for weeks now. They both know the other is single and possibly open for relations with men. When they get angry with each other this knowledge is going to be present subconsciously and before they will even know it, they will find different ways to cope, as much as it turns my stomach to think of them that way,” Al quickly explained, making dry retching sounds as soon as he finished.

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her hands together, eyes twinkling like an evil mastermind. “What do you need me for?”

“You need to call Dad, Harry I mean, and nag him about settling down. You have to pull a classic Grandma Weasley. Lay it on thick. You are worrying about him ending up alone, blah, blah, blah. That will have him doubt himself, especially when I’m there and start comparing him to my classmates’ parents who are all older than him.”

“No problem, I can do that,” she answered. “What else?”

“We need to find a way to track him. We can’t really be sure where he is going to go. Operation Dating Dads would be doomed if we placed the bait at the wrong club.”

Suddenly, the kitchen door burst open and Uncle Ron entered, stopping dead when he spotted the three conspirators, sitting around the table suspiciously. “Oh hi, Al, Scorp,” he said nodding at the boys in turn before adding, “What is going on?”

“The boys are planning to set up their dads and asking for my help,” Hermione informed him.

“Harry and Draco?” he asked thoughtfully. “Sounds just crazy enough to work.”

“Aww honey, that’s what I said,” Hermione swooned, looking at her husband as if they hadn’t been married for almost thirty years. He walked over to her and leaned in to kiss her.

“Eyes on the prize,” Al yelled to stop them from becoming too embarrassing, which his aunt and uncle were infamous for.

“Oh, sorry,” Ron said. “What do you need?”

“A way to track Harry,” Hermione answered for them. They fell silent for a couple of minutes before Ron suddenly banged his flat hand on the table.

“How about those fake Galleons, Hermione? Like those we had in Dumbledore’s Army, with the difference that the Galleon doesn’t deliver messages but contains a tracking charm instead?”

“That’s ingenious,” Hermione called excitedly. They smiled at each other, briefly lost in memories of the good old days, before Hermione turned to Al and Scorpius.

“Give me two days,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Great. So, Operation Dating Dads starts next Friday at 1800,” Scorpius announced.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this. Comments and kudos are encouraged and always greatly appreciated.


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